


blood on the snow

by rotrograde



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Gore, Disaster Gays, M/M, Slow Burn, Violence, Werewolves, eventually on those last two, more tags to come, oh god where do i start
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:00:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23167384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrograde/pseuds/rotrograde
Summary: Byleth wishes things were easy. He's managed to skid by on minimal effort throughout his short twenty-two years and hasn't developed a personality beyond neutral good, defaulting to an unassuming innocence that is, quite frankly, as exciting as wet bread.Then Byleth's father moves him back to where he was born. Or so he claims, anyway. It's a sleepy little town hidden away in the north, where winter is three fourths of the year, and you either get used to it or consistently complain about it the whole time. The only two grand options for a decent life are either enrolling in the great, big, prestegious university at the even-more-north outside edge of town, or becoming an apprentice with some hard-labor union. Byleth lets his father make the decision for him.Byleth should have known he'd insist on the university: the one known as Garreg Mach.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 8
Kudos: 46





	1. Spring - I.

-Spring-

The promotion was a surprise.

Or, well, Byleth couldn't really call it a promotion; it was more like a hasty _offer,_ and the whole cliche _it's an offer you can't refuse!_ spiel that came with it. The promotion aspect of the situation was just there to make it sound better than it actually was. 

But he was all right with that. "Teacher's assistant" wasn't exactly what he'd been aiming for in life, but for the moment, he supposed it was fine. He was doing this under the assumption he'd be helping another professor out when needed, with the usual grading papers and, well, _assisting_ students when they needed it. Though he doubted he would be doing much of the latter when it came to a bunch of college students, but who knew? Right?

His father had been just as surprised by the news. 

“But why?” he'd asked over dinner the previous night. A pre-made, oven-baked lasagna. The pinnacle of culinary art, truly. “I thought you'd never do that kind of thing in a million years. You do realize you'll be attempting to teach a bunch of privileged, snot-nosed brats, right?” 

Byleth shrugged. “They said it would help pay off my debts quicker. Or something like that. Some kind of program along those lines.”

His father grunted something in response. “Well, whatever makes you happy,” was what Byleth heard. There was more to it, but the subject had already changed. 

Byleth found that particular reaction from his father strange. Kind of funny in a way, too. His father had been a professor at the same university, teaching about anthropology and the history of...historic...wars. Or something like that. Honestly, Byleth didn't really know, or remember, or care. That last part always sounded awful, yes, but it was true. His own father didn't even care anymore, either. 

But maybe they both really, _really_ should have cared. At least a little bit.

It was literally one week until the first semester when he'd been given the news. Headmaster Rhea's brows were furrowed as she spoke, her head shaking delicately from side to side, her heavy crystal earrings chiming as they moved with her. 

“I truly am sorry for this happening on such short notice,” she said. “But I do believe you are more than qualified for the job. It will be a valuable experience to grace the repertoire of your personal history. And I assure you, it's only for one year.” 

She smiled. Seteth—whom Byleth assumed was the deputy principal, but he was too afraid to ask for clarification at this point—on the other hand, was less than pleased. 

“Headmaster,” he started through gritted teeth, “are you sure this is a good idea? We have _plenty_ of substitutes at our disposal. Surely one of them can take Robin's place until we hire a more...qualified, individual?” 

Byleth accidentally looked him dead in the eye. If it had been appropriate to do so, he would have nodded in agreement. 

“It will be fine, Seteth,” Rhea answered, a slight wisp of irritation and finality to her tone. “Besides, this year will have him working in close relations with the other two _more than capable_ professors. We will not be left wanting, I assure you.” 

While her expression didn't change—and Byleth had been watching it closely, mind you—there was something different about her smile. The way her eyes hardened, despite staying such a bright and lively green. It was like she was threatening him with them, somehow. Not one, but two little knives stared his way, and he swallowed hard. 

Rhea _had_ to be under the impression that his father had talked to him about all he knew and experienced from his teaching days; she'd mentioned knowing him, and knowing him quite well, at that. And if Seteth could see right through Byleth and pluck from his innermost buried thoughts the fact that Jeralt _hadn't_ , why couldn't she? 

Well, it didn't really matter in the end, is what he told himself. What an ignorant dumbass he was, epitomizing the Fool in life's deck of cards. Byleth didn't bother to think twice about it; he took Rhea at her word, and agreed on meeting her the next morning. 

And it really _did_ sound like a good deal. Not only would there be tuition reimbursement, but he'd be getting an actual salary, too. It wasn't much to cough at, granted, but it also wasn't like he was in the position to haggle on something like that. He was fresh and brand new to the concept, totally inexperienced, and ready (oh, gods, not really) to go. 

It was actually Seteth who met him in the morning. 

“My apologies for being late,” he said, a visible furrow of displeasure on his brow. That, or it was just the resting bitch face. Byleth could sympathize...kind of. In his situation, he was more of spacecase without a single thought in his head—and it showed. 

“No worries,” Byleth said, smiling self-consciously. “I take it Rhea is unavailable...?” 

“Yes, therefore she's asked me to fill you in on the details in her stead. I hope you aren't too disappointed. And it's _Headmaster_ to you.” He sniffed after his last comment, somehow looking even more unimpressed as he regarded Byleth. He felt all of the wind start threatening to knock his sails into the water. 

“Eisner, correct? Son of Jeralt Eisner?” 

Byleth nodded. 

“Good.” Seteth pulled a manila folder out from underneath his arm. It was bulging slightly at its middle, and Byleth found he was afraid of it, actually. And for good reasoning, too, which he'd be finding out soon enough. 

“First is the paperwork. Then we'll talk expectations and rules. We can do that while we tour the premises.” Seteth sighed, before gesturing to a table at their side. “Come, sit.” 

He threw the folder down onto the dark mahogany surface with a thud like a gunshot. Byleth swallowed hard before nodding (he felt like he was doing a lot of that, and was starting to develop a subtle crick in his neck), and took a matching wooden chair in hand to pull out and sit on. He sat like he had pins in his spine keeping him painfully upright, and he was just as rigid in his posture to match. Seteth, for his part, didn't seem to care. He was actually sitting the same way, almost mechanical with his movements while he grabbed the folder and opened it, splaying its insides out for Byleth to see. 

“You have as much time as you need to fill everything out. Read it all carefully, twice if you have to. Make sure you know what you are getting into. I assure you this position will put you through your paces.” 

Byleth met his deep green eyes while he was handed the first packet of papers. “Of course,” he said, trying to look and sound reassuring. All of that wavered when he was handed a pen that was easily worth at least two-hundred dollars. He held it awkwardly in his fingertips, fearing it might do something like explode at any moment. Or, like, bite him. 

He looked past the pen and down at the papers themselves, and was _not_ comforted by them in the slightest. Everything was printed on thick, gilded parchment, with delicate swirls of silver foil that laced their way around the edges. Everything was written so neatly that Byleth initially brushed aside the possibility that they might have all been handwritten, but the closer he looked at them, the more he really suspected that they were. 

__

__

What the hell, dude. 

Byleth flicked his gaze back up to Seteth. He was a pretty unassuming guy, wearing a deep navy suit with a long, almost cape-like overcoat to match. There was a golden embroidered design on the coat that made it look very fancy indeed, and it matched the circlet he wore on his forehead, which...also looked very fancy, indeed—and it sure was an actual circlet, in their day and age. His legs hung out at the side of the table rather than underneath it, and Byleth caught a glimpse of shiny black knee-high boots tipped at the toe in gold, too. 

He had a theme going on. Byleth could respect that. But gods damn, was the man _bourgeois._ The panic Seteth probably had wanted him to feel at first was finally starting to settle in, creeping deep into his digestive tract and making him feel uneasy. Just looking around at the place was giving him a big, red, neon flashing sign in his head, screaming...something. Sure, this was where the rich and influential individuals came to play, but there just seemed to be something _more._

Maybe it was because, despite their modern age, everything still managed to look so...vintage? Byleth thought that was the right word for all of it...

They were in a communal room for the professors, which looked something like a small library stuffed into a studio apartment. The lights were dimmed, hung along the walls between floor-to-ceiling windows covered with thick, velvet drapes. Every piece of furniture, from crimson-upholstered couches to the mahogany tables and chairs, seemed designed to suck up as much of the light as possible. The neatly-placed bookshelves cast long shadows over the wooden flooring, and rather than filtered sunshine illuminating everything, it looked like they had been sent back to the dark ages with nothing but candles to light their spaces. 

Which Byleth wasn't complaining about, honestly. The sun hurt his eyes, and it was actually pretty refreshing to sit in a building that didn't insist on white walls, bright floors, fluorescent ceilings, and windows revealing every inch of the immediate perimeter. It was cozier where they sat, and while Byleth felt _very_ much out of place, he was doing his best to adjust. 

He just...needed to wear something different while at work, he'd decided. His coat might pass as acceptable, looking more decorative on his shoulders than like an actual functional garment, but the rest of what he wore was probably considered rags to the rest of the campus's residents. He definitely didn't fit into the whole professor aesthetic, and he hadn't planned on it. His knee-high boots with his harem pants tucked into them definitely looked more edgy-student, and the black button-down he'd thrown on as an afterthought didn't really complement the rest of his attire at all. In fact, he probably looked like he'd just rolled out of bed and put whatever was within reach on his body. 

...Which is exactly what he did, but he digressed. 

_Focus._ He needed to focus. Ogling at the sights and what he thought of each individual detail wasn't getting the paperwork done any faster, and he wanted to be rid of it, like, half an hour ago.

It took two hours. Seteth had been on his phone the entire time, but he offered a surprising amount of kind assistance, and helped Byleth through some of the more backwater agreements. It took an additional twenty minutes just to prep and mentally steel himself before signing the final line of the contract. When he did, he'd be locked into the agreement for good. It was only for the first initial year, and then they would see what would happen after that, but...

He scribbled his name down with his eyes closed. This whole ordeal was much more stressful than it needed to be, damn. 

“Very well,” Seteth sighed, glancing at the folder being pushed his way. “I take it you've thought long and hard about the responsibilities that await you?” 

Byleth nodded (again). 

“All right,” Seteth said, closing his eyes, seemingly tempering himself. “I do suppose there's something to be said for your determination and willingness to commit to the cause. Just see to it that you actually stick to your word, instead of disappointing us all?” 

Byleth flinched. “O-of course,” he said, avoiding Seteth's gaze by keeping his on the folder between them. “You guys really seem like you need the help, and I want to be able to offer what I can.” 

Cue the nervous smile flashed at Seteth. 

He didn't answer for a solid forty-five seconds. Byleth had to wonder if he'd been counting them, too. 

Seteth pushed himself away from the table, elegantly getting to his feet. “Let's be on our way, then.” 

To say the university was huge was an understatement. 

“It was originally a holy monastery, some one-hundred years ago. Individuals of all backgrounds would regularly make their pilgrimage to the cathedral in the north.” Seteth gestured idly off in that direction, while he and Byleth walked the vast courtyard to the dorms. “Of course, it isn't used for that purpose any longer, but we do house a group of the monastery keepers' descendents who have inherited the right to the grounds' upkeep and maintenance. They work alongside us for religious studies as well, if you ever feel inclined to learn something new.” 

Seteth looked to Byleth from the corner of his eye, a small, nearly unnoticeable smirk at the corner of his mouth. “They also help with enforcing university rules. We value the importance of a schedule and tailored regime, so offhanded activities such as staying out past curfew and leaving the premises unattended will be reported by staff and Knights alike.”

“Wait,” Byleth said, looking to Seteth and subsequently stumbling over his feet, “ _Knights?_ ” 

“Yes. The group who run the church call themselves the Knights of Seiros. Obviously such a title isn't needed in a time like ours, now that we've moved past such medieval practices, but it's been passed down through the centuries and still holds an important meaning. Much like how we divide our students into houses." Seteth shrugged a shoulder. 

Byleth's head was whirling. He had to reach back and pat his ass to make sure his phone was still safely tucked away in his pocket, otherwise he might have actually felt like Alice in Wonderland, tumbling down some random hole at the side of the road to end up in a place like this. 

Maybe he actually had, and he was just in denial over the situation. But—and he never thought he'd ever say this—the sudden sensation of the vibration from a text having come through weirdly soothed him. At least they had some kind of service here. Hopefully. 

“Your situation is a unique one, I'll admit,” Seteth was saying, a few steps ahead of Byleth now, “but you'll still be permitted a room in the student housing. Ground floor, one person only, no exceptions.” 

He turned to face Byleth, who'd jogged that little half-jog to catch up with him. His eyebrow had lifted towards his hairline like he was expecting some kind of answer, or reaction. Byleth just shrugged, a little out of breath.

The dorms had a building all to themselves. They were across the massive courtyard from the class and lecture rooms, and they looked to be the only modernized area—probably built later, or recently remodeled. In any case, Byleth was sort of relieved to see it. 

“That sounds fine to me,” he mused, his eyes thoughtfully roaming his future home. It was a white, marbled building, adorned with ornately-placed black decorations and flowering terraces. It gave off a very minimalist vibe and, while Byleth liked the look, it also felt...out of place. Like once more he'd fallen into the rabbit hole, but somehow managed to tumble down another branch of it entirely into a strange, cyberpunk Wonderland. It almost looked a little _too_ new, and yet again, he was reminded of just how _expensive_ everything was. Even the grass felt different underneath his boots.

“I'm sure I don't need to tell you twice, but just because you'll be living among the students doesn't mean you'll have free rein to...fraternize, with them. We value strict and professional relationships between faculty and student, and do not wish to cast the stone which will turn the seas tumultuous, so to speak. I know it will be harder on you considering the smaller gap in age and experience, but please do try to keep things civil.” 

Seteth sighed, turning to look at Byleth properly. “We can go to your room later. For now, let us visit the dining halls and entryways. The former will be an important enough location throughout your year with us, I'm sure.” 

It was a decent walk from the dorms to the cafeteria. But _cafeteria_ sounded too trivial for what it actually was: an open space with a tall ceiling, full of elongated tables with multiple vases of fresh flowers and platters of various snacks upon their surfaces. Multiple doors stood spread open to various parts of the university grounds, and while Byleth was used to seeing the gardens outside and their mazes of hedges and blossoming bushes, through another entryway seemed to be a path to a huge lake inlaid into the land towards the back of it all.

The sunlight filtered in through slightly stained windows, giving the air inside a golden hue. The crystal chandeliers that hung above them caught the rays and sparkled over everything in a shower of tiny prisms that danced along the stone walls and tiled flooring, and it smelled like freshly-baked bread and felt as warm as it all looked to be.

“Granted, there are other various areas scattered throughout the university that act as general cafes and smaller kitchens, so staff and student alike aren't forced here every evening if it isn't feasible. But we do encourage utilizing the dining hall to its full potential, for not only the socializing aspect, but for learning other valuable skills as well. The kitchen, so long as it is booked in advance, is free for anyone to use. Fridays and Sundays are often used as days for students to cook for their houses as well.”

"You keep saying 'houses,'” Byleth said, looking to Seteth. “Are there like...themes, every year, or something?” 

Seteth gave Byleth that dry, pained look that let him know he was currently disappointing. “I don't suppose you picked a house when you signed up? We receive new classes every year from different schools that are of both national and international standing. Depending on their region of origin, those students are sorted into different houses. Students from the north, for example, are automatically enrolled in the Blue Lion house. While they are free to transfer houses during their time here, they must adhere to their given house for sixty days before doing so. Students who do _not_ conform to these standards, rare as they may be, are free to choose where they'd like to go unless instructed otherwise.” 

Byleth felt awful, but so much of what Seteth was saying flew right over his head. 

“Though I suppose it doesn't matter now,” Seteth sighed, crossing his arms. “You'll be working with the other professors now, and that means working out who will take which house to teach for the year. Just _remember it_ when you do choose where to go. _You_ are not free to transfer, or trade classes, as you see fit.” 

And it was with that thinly-veiled threat that they left, and Byleth was shown the way to his room. It was closer than he'd thought it be, yet still somehow quite the trek down a long, lonely hallway. The carpeting was black, with white welcome mats before the door of each empty room. The lighting was like those neon LED strips someone would expect to see underneath a bar, or along the walls in a club, except they were up where ceiling met wall at its 90° angle. They shone in a simple white hue, while the decorations along the walls caught the lighting dramatically to cast dramatic shadows down onto the floor. A lot of them were simple lion head busts, or paintings, but there was one statue in particular that happened to be in front of his room that, quite frankly, freaked him out a little. 

It wasn't a lion; it was a wolf, laid low by an invisible hunter from what Byleth could tell. Arrows protruded crudely from the warped and matted pelt along its spine, and the skin had split along its underbelly to show lovingly-carved viscera spilling out of broken rib bones and onto the imagery of snow. Its face was split in half vertically down the middle, and its mouth that still seemed to be connected at the jaw hung agape, giving off the impression it had been cut into four sections. 

Byleth couldn't see any eyes, and considering the thing was as tall as he was, he was actually _really_ freaked out by it. 

“Interesting choice in décor,” he tried to laugh, though the uneasiness in his voice was evident.

Seteth looked away from the bundle of keys in his hand to the statue, his expression bored. “That piece is a donation from the Blaiddyd family. You should consider yourself lucky that you'll be able to appreciate the work of an esteemed family artisan from their past. The meaning of it, as I'm always told, is _you'll either know it from first looking at it, or you won't._

“...I guess I don't get it, because not once has any idea as to what its meaning might allude to come to me over these past few years. Perhaps you'll figure it out yourself, though.”

Seteth held out a simple black key in his fingertips. “All of the locks in the building are electronic. I know, I'm not too enthused over the idea myself. But it was a mandatory change.” 

He shook his head while Byleth took his key. Seteth said a few more things, but Byleth's attention was still on that statue, tucked away in the corner at the end of such a long hallway. Two windows bordered either side of it, but they were spaced out far enough that the sunlight slanting through their panes didn't touch the cold marble of the art. It seemed to be cast permanently over in shadows, and those deep, empty eye sockets of the wolf felt like they were staring at him anyway, no matter how he turned or where he stepped. 

Byleth felt a cold pinprick of uneasiness slip up his spine. 

"That concludes today's necessary tasks,” Seteth droned on, his hand on his hip, eyes looking Byleth over. “You are free to go for the day. Whatever assistance you may need in moving your belongings into your room will be offered, if you ask. Next Monday is the first day of the Blue Lions' semester. See to it that you are prepared with the material, and with a plan for teaching said material. Dimitri, the class lead, has offered to take your original position of TA and is willing to help you when needed. I suggest you seek him out within the next few days so that you might both go over what needs to be done. Oh, and I suppose I should explain: the other professors have already chosen their classes, leaving you with the Blue Lions. I just now got the news," he said, without looking at either his phone or...anything else to indicate Byleth's class had been chosen for him without consent.

Oh well? 

“...And of course, if needed, the staff—including myself—are all here to help you as well. While I want you to understand the importance of this situation, I also do not feel comfortable throwing you to the wolves. So please, seek me out if you have any questions, or need of assistance. I will be more than happy to help.” 

Seteth actually smiled. Sure, he'd smiled a few times before, but this one actually reached his eyes, and was oddly reassuring and affectionate. Byleth couldn't help but let his own passive expression curl itself into a soft one of gratitude. 

With the necessary formalities of farewells out of the way, and the second wave of paperwork finding itself somehow lovingly cradled in Byleth's arms, he was back off to the small countryside house he shared with his father, where his last two precious days would be spent at his side. Back to _normalcy_ , familiarity. 

Somehow, living off the grid seemed easier, and more appealing, than all of this.


	2. II.

“So you're going through with it?” 

Jeralt glanced back at Byleth over his shoulder. His hands were occupied with an ancient iron skillet, full to the brim with scrambled eggs and pieces of sliced bacon, and a generous drop of hot sauce for the extra kick. It sizzled loudly on the old, porous surface of the utensil, and Byleth lost his thoughts to the noise, finding it hard to concentrate with the constant buzz in his ear. 

“There's nothing else to really do, is there?” he asked, hunching over the small table in their equally-small kitchen. He had his head propped up in the palm of his hand, his eyes distant as he gazed out the window next to him. The entire house was tiny, but it was cozy, with strategically-placed furniture. The ashen table at which he currently sat was nestled up against a bay window of sorts, and the sunlight that filtered in through the lace curtains warmed the space around him pleasantly. 

He languished in the dappled lighting, wallowing. He was glad the weather was warmer, but it also took away his excuse for holing up inside and not doing anything. He knew he disappointed his father when he did that, but when push came to shove, Byleth didn't really know if he was prepared for the shove. Winter was the greatest excuse of all to just keep inside and not emerge for days, and he already missed it. Especially since he didn't have to deal with something like this back then. 

But he sounded so ungrateful. Byleth dropped his head between his arms and ran his fingers through his dark hair, sighing deeply. He knew everything would be fine in the end, eventually—it was just overwhelming right then. 

“Well,” Jeralt said over the sounds of him dishing out their meal, “I may be surprised you even took the job, but I know you'll do great at it. You're easygoing and laid-back. You're an expert on winging it when you need to. I'm sure all those kids will appreciate someone like you. Especially someone around their own age...I think.” 

He shrugged a shoulder. With their plates in hand, he walked over to the table and sat opposite of Byleth, dropping his eggs in front of him with a subtle clatter. The steam and smell immediately filled Byleth's nose and clogged his head, making him almost nauseous. It was funny how a stomach worked like that. Kind of. 

He was in the middle of his first bite when the thought occurred to him. “You taught there, right?” he asked through a mouthful of egg, manners casually thrown out the window. This was important. More important than sounding and being gross while he spoke. 

“I did, yes,” Jeralt answered, idly shoving his food around his plate with his fork. “For a few good years. I guess I started out like you did: got asked—out of the blue, too—if I wanted to do it, took the offer, wondered why the hell I did it for about the first three months, and then it was all downhill from there.” 

He hummed thoughtfully. “Your mother taught there, too. But by the time I'd joined the team, she'd already been promoted to Rhea's right-hand man. Er, woman. But she was so kind, and good to everyone. She was the main reason I stuck around for as long as I did.” 

Jeralt's voice had grown wistful. Byleth swallowed hard, looking awkwardly down at his food. It was so ironic, when it came to his mother. She was...well, his _mother,_ but he never knew what to say when the topic came up. His father had never, ever given off the implication that he blamed Byleth for her death or anything like that, but he always did feel a little guilty about the situation, especially when it came to how he talked about his mother. 

Byleth kept quiet. 

“Anyway,” Jeralt said with an easy smile, “when do you start again? This coming Monday?” 

He finally tucked into his eggs, and Byleth nodded, grateful for the change in subject. 

“Yeah,” he said. “But I still have to like...visit pretty much every day until then. I'm meeting with the head of the class on Saturday.” Which was already tomorrow. Gods, his week had really flown right over his head. 

“Oh?” Jeralt looked to Byleth with a lifted brow. “Know anything about them yet?” 

“Not really.” Byleth quickly finished off the last of his food before continuing. 

“Just his name. Dimitri Bladed. Or was it Blaythid?” He shook his head. “I don't know. But, oh, I guess there's the fact that his family's apparently loaded.” 

Was that an important detail to point out? No. But did he feel like he had to, anyway? Yes.

Jeralt snorted. “You're gonna have a lot of that there. You and I are a bit of an anomaly in that whole scene. Don't let it get you down, though. At the end of the day it doesn't matter, surprisingly. Besides, there will be others there in similar situations to ours. You won't have to keep up a strange look just to feel like you need to fit in.” 

Byleth had to admit that was a relief. He felt bad for thinking the way he did about the place so far, but he was...well, he was _intimidated._ First off, he'd barely had someone to call a friend all his life. Unless his father counted? He did tell him everything. But, Byleth didn't really think that counted. He was family, his comfort zone; suddenly being shoved into this whole brand new situation was...a lot, to put it plainly.

*

Byleth had been up all night—no surprise there. Mostly because he couldn't sleep because of anxiety, but also because he'd been doubly anxious over his little get-together with this guy. He didn't know what to expect, aside from what he'd told his father. He didn't even have a general description to go off of—which, honestly, might have been his fault. He had just been so eager to get on with things and get a break from Seteth that he'd really skimped out on the additional questions. Important ones like identifying factors included. 

Byleth could try to guess though, right? That's what he was thinking as he sat there, outside of the campus cafe, nursing a triple-shot espresso. He hated the taste of lukewarm, black coffee, but it was doing its job with keeping him awake. And skyrocketing his nerves to the moon, too. 

He had his legs crossed, the foot hanging in the air jiggling erratically. He'd crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, doing his best to just recline and relax as he watched the various students and teachers go about their lives. No one so far had given off any indication that they might be looking for someone else, and Byleth sincerely hoped that he was just early, and the other guy was running late. He also hoped he'd gotten the location right. It'd be a bit awkward if there was another coffee shop, on the other side of the lake, that was like this one, but...not.

In the meantime, he did suppose he had a nice view. The cafe itself was nestled on the shore of the university's local lake, advertised as a cozy little thing only open in the warmer seasons. It offered exclusively outdoor seating, and Byleth was tucked away in the corner of the little sitting area, at a table for two next to a neatly-trimmed hedge. It towered over him and offered a nice shade from the ever-warming sun, and kept him well hidden and out of the public eye. 

...Which was defeating the point of this whole thing, but he digressed. He was keeping an eye on things, he'd know when the guy would—

“Are you Professor Eisner, perhaps?” 

The voice came from right next to him, and Byleth nearly threw his drink. 

“Oh, Gods, sorry,” he said, putting his drink down, on the far edge of the table so he could out-of-sight-out-of-mind the thing. “I am,” he continued, smiling nervously while he turned to look at who was speaking to him. 

And...oh. 

He was the most unassuming, yet simultaneously striking person Byleth had ever seen. From his sunny blond hair to his bright blue eyes, to how damn _tall_ he was, it was both a look he'd seen everywhere and yet nowhere. His high cheekbones were ones you'd find on a supermodel's face on the cover of a magazine, and he had a perfect nose to complement it and really bring it all together. His small smile just barely plucked at the corners of his mouth, yet there was still a tenderness in his eyes that helped Byleth both relax and also feel like he was being slowly skinned and observed like an alien specimen in a government lab deep underground. 

“I take it you're Dimitri...?” 

He laughed, and Byleth wanted to gag. 

“I am, yes,” he said, moving to take his seat across from Byleth. What he wore was pretty ordinary too, yet Byleth had the feeling he could take an old, dirty sack and make it look good. But he had better taste than that: he wore one of those denim jackets with the white Sherpa-lined collar, except his was a darker blue than the usual, standard denim blue. He had on a black hoodie underneath it, and a blue turtleneck sweater made with that awful ribbed fabric that he somehow managed to pull off anyway (Byleth wasn't going to look too hard, he _wasn't_ ). The jeans he donned were a tight black pair that hugged his legs in a _really_ good way, and Byleth had to admit he was a fan of the ridiculously heavy combat boots he'd paired with it all. 

“I'm glad I found you, finally,” Dimitri continued, settling back in his seat. “Seteth only gave me enough to get the general idea of what you might look like, and also nothing useful, somehow. 'Dark hair and dark eyes' is, uh, not helpful. I think he was going out of his way to describe you a little more personally than I imagine you'd be comfortable with.” 

He laughed again. “Though, I assure you, not in a bad way. I've heard nothing but positive things about you so far, and I have to say myself that I'm impressed with the, uh... _chance,_ you're taking.” 

Byleth balked in his seat. “You and me both,” he said, without thought, before backpedaling hard. “I-I mean, uh...shit. That stays between you and me.” 

It was never too late to throw open the doors to those kinds of confessions, he supposed. Or rather, in this case, too early. 

“But of course,” Dimitri said, thankfully taking it in stride. “I'd be just as stressed out as you are. If not more, even.” 

He shrugged, and Byleth had to admit just looking at the guy had him feeling warm. 

...Not like that, he was quick to reiterate to himself. Just _literally,_ in the sense that the day was a much warmer day than anticipated, and he was starting to sweat a little underneath his own coat. Was it mostly from nerves? Probably. Stress? Definitely. The heat? Absolutely. 

Yet Dimitri sat there, looking like he was about to make a midnight Taco Bell run in the middle of January. Byleth kind of wanted to pry, but the heavy bags and sallow skin underneath his eyes made him think better of that. And honestly, he probably didn't look much better himself, so he'd only look like a hypocrite if he did happen to say something.

“Well,” Byleth piped up, kicking the bag next to his feet, “I've uh...I've been given the syllabus, and a general outline for how to go about the first semester. Seteth said I should probably look over everything with you so we can be on the same page.” 

Dimitri hummed. “Not a bad idea,” he said, moving to lean forward, propping his elbows on the table. As Byleth bent low to grab at his bag and tug the zipper loose, he couldn't help but notice the lack of...everything, on the guy. Not even a single coffee to keep his hands busy. 

“Would you like anything from the cafe?” Byleth asked, his hands blindly searching for that damned manila envelope he was ready to set on fire. 

“Oh, I'm all right,” Dimitri said, casually waving a hand. “I'm not the biggest fan of that stuff. Unless it happens to be some form of chamomile, but that tends to be a bit too old fashioned for everyone these days, I think.” 

He actually looked a little sad as he said that. Byleth's chest ached. 

“Well,” he continued, “if you change your mind, just say so. I don't want to bore us both to the point of tears over this. Or frustrate us to the point of tears, either.” He was already grimacing as he found and opened the folder, his fingers slowly pawing at the thick pages of all of his different assigned packets. Byleth could have sworn a small tree had been cut down just for this, with as much paper as there was to flip through. Even Dimitri looked a little uncomfortable as he looked down at it. 

“I'm sure it can't be too bad,” he said, words that were, in fact, proven to be very wrong in the near future. But neither of them was thinking that far ahead. They were thinking hard about the _now,_ and how the syllabus itself managed to be eighteen pages. 

“It's all things we've heard before,” Dimitri laughed nervously, his fingers careful with the thing as if they were dismantling a bomb. “I mean, we do hear all of it during orientation. Surely it can't be that different. Hopefully just reminders...” 

They flicked through it, only to find out that it was some reminders and _more._ After reading the same sentence about ten times, their eyes glossing over, they both opted to put it to the side and read it later. 

“The course probably is more important right now,” Byleth mused, pulling out the fifteen-week plan he'd had pre-made for himself. He'd looked at it before, but it still elicited the same reaction from him every time: horrendously crushed underneath the academic weight of responsibility for not only himself, but for a class of at least twenty others.

Oh, Gods above. He'd really gone and done it now, hadn't he?

“At least the first semester seems like it'll be about something entertaining,” Dimitri mused, his eyes scanning over the agenda slowly. “I already much rather someone like you be teaching us these kinds of mathematics. You seem like you'll teach it in a much more...I don't know, reliable way?” 

Dimitri passed the papers back over with the flash of another smile. “Definitely something you and I can pick up on the fly, right?” 

His confidence was definitely something Byleth was appreciative of, if not a little envious for. He probably _didn't_ —because let's be real here, who did—have his shit together more than Byleth did, and that was definitely something he should have at least looked into doing beforehand. 

But, it was too late now. Dimitri, at the very least, was turning out to be a nicer guy than what Byleth had been expecting, faux confidence and everything. What had he been expecting? He actually didn't know, but he knew it wasn't this. So far he was a pretty nice guy, anyway. Byleth didn't know if he'd just suddenly go wild at some point, from just one conversation alone. He hoped he wouldn't. 

“I think I plan on changing it up a little bit before we really do dig into the course,” he mumbled, finding it hard to meet Dimitri's eyes. Looking exhausted and on the brink of caffeine and pain pill-assisted death like he was, there was a certain earnestness to them that was making Byleth's chest squeeze and his stomach attempt to do flips over. 

“It uh, seems a little rushed at first. I think there's certain subjects we could break down a little so everyone isn't on different pages all the time.” Byleth pointed out the first five weeks, where there was just...a lot happening at once, for some reason. 

“Probably wise,” Dimitri said, humming thoughtfully at the back of his throat while he bent over the paper again. “Definitely something I can get behind. It'll help me as well in the long run. I'm always ashamed to admit it, but I've never been too quick with numbers.” 

He laughed shyly. 

“Oh?” Byleth asked, helpless as the curiosity took him over. They would certainly learn more about each other as time went on, so there was nothing wrong with starting a little early. Hopefully this was the last of the things he was going to start early, though. Opening up the floodgates of his heart upon their first meeting wasn't, uh, typical, he was sure. 

“Classes in general have always been a little rough for me,” Dimitri answered, leaning his chin against the palm of his hand. “I uh, how to put it...I just had and have some challenges that are always...well, a challenge to work through.” 

“I feel you there,” Byleth said. Maybe. Maybe he really did feel Dimitri there, maybe he didn't. Byleth hoped that kind of statement was relatable enough to warrant that kind of carefree comment about it. 

Dimitri only chuckled again, nodding. “We all have our own struggles,” he said, looking Byleth in the eye. “I do hope I can at least help with easing yours, though. It's the least I can do for someone as seemingly kind as you. And someone who picked my class, no less. I'm sure the roster had to look...interesting.” 

Dimitri furrowed his brow, and Byleth felt his stomach drop. Oh, shit.

“I uh, actually didn't get the chance to look at it too hard,” he said, guiltily. “I was only really told about you, uh, Edelgard, and...Claude, right? Just you three.” 

Dimitri clicked his tongue in surprise. “Well, shit,” he said. “I can catch you up to speed, then? Obviously some of the students I will have no clue about at all, but there's my class I've been with the last few years I can tell you about. Which...you might want to hear about, considering how some of them are.” 

Uh oh. Byleth grimaced. “I hope nothing too...scandalous?” 

Dimitri made a noise that was halfway between a derisive snort and sigh of exasperation. “No,” he said, slowly, “but...ah, fuck it, I'll just explain. Probably easier that way.” 

Byleth nodded, tucking the papers they'd been staring blankly at back into his folder. He closed it and set it all to the side, his eyes on Dimitri the whole time. “I can't tell if I'm excited or wary,” he said, laughing softly, awkwardly. 

Dimitri only smiled. “We can start with Dedue then, if you're feeling excited. Dedue Molinaro. He's a foreign exchange student who came to my family when I was...ah, geez, fourteen? Thirteen? Something like that. But, due to some unfortunate circumstances, he's more like...foreign exchange student by title only. For the most part he has his visa, lived with me, went to school with me, still does. All that fun stuff. 

“He's really quiet, but he's a sweet guy. Also he's very, very tall. He's a bit self-conscious about that."

Byleth took a nervous drink from his cold coffee. “Off to a good start, at least?” he asked, the corner of his mouth twitching into what he hoped was an encouraging smile. 

“Oh, yes, for sure. Honestly there's really only one troublemaker. But we'll get to him. Next on my mental list is Felix. Felix Hugo Fraldarius is his whole name, and calling him by his entire name gets a really fun rise out of him. I don't recommend it. He's a real live wire in the worst kind of way, though he takes most of his frustrations out on me, so I don't think you'll have to worry too much about him. He's a great guy, too. I've known him since I was a kid.” 

Byleth cocked an eyebrow. _He takes most of his frustrations out on me_ and _he's a really great guy_ didn't really seem to mesh well in the same breath. But, it wasn't any of his business, and he wasn't about to say anything. 

“Then we have Ingrid. Ingrid Brandl Galatea. I've also known her since I was a kid. I wouldn't call her a tomboy, but she's also not the most...affectionate? Kind of woman, I suppose? Though, to be fair, she has her reasons. She really is very nice, though. Loves food, has a horse, the kind of typical stuff I'm sure you're expecting.” 

Dimitri threw that last statement in with an empty smirk, and Byleth immediately felt guilty. 

“And then, finally, we have our troublemaker,” Dimitri said, not giving Byleth a chance to respond. Probably for the best. “Sylvain, Jose, Gautier. Please don't get the wrong idea or think I'm _that_ kind of person when I say this, but I promise you, it's the only word that can really do him justice: he's a huge slut.” 

Byleth snorted through his coffee, nearly choking on it. 

“He's got that complex about him,” Dimitri said, visibly vexed. “You know the one. _Every girl I meet is into me and wants to do me,_ that kind of thing. He doesn't really understand the meaning of the word no, either. And it's a shame. We've all known each other for so long, Ingrid, Felix, Sylvain and I, and he's shaping up to be such a...a fool.” 

Byleth watched him bite his tongue. “But, I'm sure he'll learn one day. Just keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn't accidentally become some kind of sex offender. He may be... _that_ way, but he's also just an idiot. Just goes about his intentions through bad habits.” 

"Sounds like quite the handful,” Byleth said, clearing his throat, voice somewhat scratchy after he'd tried to choke quietly and innocuously. He set his coffee to the side again. “But I'm sure it'll turn out fine. I don't mind helping and stepping in where I have to.” 

“Thanks. I really do appreciate that.” 

Dimitri's expression was pained, but it was soft and honest.

“I promise the others aren't nearly as wild,” he continued, tracing the elaborate, swirled designs of the tabletop with a fingertip. And it was right then that Byleth noticed he was really wearing fingerless gloves. “The ones left that I know personally, anyway. Ashe is an absolute star in a voided sky. Ubert, I think, is his last name. He's probably going to be someone you can relate to more, actually, when it comes to social status and all that.”

Dimitri flashed him a slight smirk, and Byleth felt himself slide, just a little, down his chair.

“Then there's Mercedes and Annette. I mentioned them together because they're really fu—impossible to separate, even when they're fighting. It's kind of incredible, actually. But they both love and adore sweets, and will often make things for us as a class. You'll love those days, I'm sure. They happen quite often.” 

Dimitri leaned away from the table, nestling himself comfortably against the back of his seat. “And...that's it, I believe. Unless you want to hear about some of the other students in the other houses, but I'm afraid that would mostly just be speculation and various rumors I've heard.” 

He looked to Byleth, his eyebrows slightly raised. “Any questions?” 

“Yeah, actually,” Byleth said, grabbing his coffee again (when would he stop grabbing and putting it down, he didn't know, but he wanted to stop), “what about you? I mean, first impressions have been great, but...anything you like, or dislike? Preferences, what you like to do...?” 

Byleth fidgeted with his cup, thankful it was at least something to fuss with. Hopefully he kept it in his hands this time. Dimitri was looking like he was having a harder time with keeping his hands still and unassuming. Byleth could actually see his fingers twitch occasionally. 

"Uh, ah-hah, well...” He reached up to rub at the back of his neck, his eyes sliding down to the table. “That's...kind of hard to answer actually, I guess. I've never been too great at talking about myself. But I guess...I like to work out in the mornings, clog my arteries with cheese. I enjoy reading here and there, when I have the patience for it, but most of all I like to procrastinate on all of that and lock myself away in my room to play a video game or two to lose myself in for a couple days at a time.”

He laughed awkwardly, his shoulders slouching. “I'm...not a very interesting person, honestly. I don't do a whole lot.” 

That surprised Byleth, honestly, considering Dimitri looked like the type to be the exact opposite way. But, it also made him feel sadistically better about his own self.

"For what it's worth, that's kind of how I tend to live life, too,” he said, picking at the heat-protector-strap-thingy wrapped around his coffee cup. “Never really put a lot of stock into things that require...more than a little bit of critical thinking and decision making. Yet, here I am. Somehow.” 

He shrugged, but he offered Dimitri a small smile. “There's nothing wrong with it, I think. I used to feel kind of bad about my habits, but...if I'm making it, and I can say I'm happy with where I am in life, then I just try not to worry about it.” 

Dimitri seemed to perk up. 

“That is...a reassuring way of looking at things. Somehow, hearing it from you in particular makes it all the more comforting.” He reached up to grab one of his hoodie strings, tugging idly at it while a not-too-awkward silence blanketed over them. 

“Well,” Byleth said after a moment, “should we meet up again later? I'm sure you've got things to do, and I...oh, Gods, I know I do. I don't want to keep you away from anything you might need to do, though.” 

He wilted in his seat. Dimitri offered him a sympathetic look, before nodding in agreement. 

“That should work out fine. And remember, I'll be your assistant. I'm here to help shoulder whatever burden may come your way, if I can. I am at your full disposal. And we can meet like this whenever you want to. Every day, for all I care.” 

Something about that rang as a little too _intimate_ in Byleth's ears, but it was...it was nice. Talk about comforting things to say during a crisis; Dimitri seemed to be rather good at it himself. 

"Tomorrow, then?” he asked. “Same time, same place?” 

Dimitri nodded. “That should be fine,” he said, his voice wandering. “Though I propose moving somewhere less...populated. One of the emptier study halls, or something like that.” 

Byleth nodded. “That sounds fine, if you don't mind still meeting up here. I haven't had much of a chance to properly explore and learn the layout of this place.” 

Byleth didn't think he ever _would,_ but that was a different problem for a different day. 

"I can certainly guide you around. I can show you more places than just any old study hall, too. We'll probably want the reprieve after a while.” 

Byleth hummed an incoherent response. He felt like a doddering idiot, especially with trying to adjust to all of this with record speeds. People like Seteth weren't helping at all with that, but Dimitri really was much nicer. Again, so far, anyway. Truth be told, Byleth was just grateful someone was even willing to offer him any kind of assistance.

"That does sound nice,” Byleth said. “I look forward to it.” 

And it was with that they exchanged numbers and said their strange-feeling farewells. Byleth slowly made his way to his dorm room afterward, his doubts and occasional thoughts on throwing in the towel shaken. 

It wasn't like he'd been really planning on going through with the decision to leave. But every time he thought of it—even for just a moment—a distant part of his soul countered and argued with him immediately about it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♦ [twitter](https://twitter.com/rotrograde)  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> everyone likes to have a little fun with werewolves. 
> 
> ♦ [tumblr](https://spacerot.tumblr.com/)  
> ♦ [twitter](https://twitter.com/rotrograde)  
> 


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